


In memoria tenebamus

by Adversarial



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cancer, Commoner's coffee, Implied/Referenced Incest, Kyoya has No Good Coping Mechanisms, Like seriously this guy needs therapy, M/M, More tags to be added, People Not Coping With Things Well, Ranka being the best mom, Smoking, They all need therapy, Unhealthy relaitonships, Vomiting in cars, lots of self-loathing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adversarial/pseuds/Adversarial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Ootori Kyoya and you refuse to accept your own blamelessness. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>In which Haruhi dies, Kyoya is forced to run the Host Club, and Kaoru finds solace in an unhealthy relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kyoya muses on a recent death.

It started with a cough. 

You wish that it had been something more dramatic. Something that would have caught the attention of the entire Host Club. Something that would have caught your attention, made you look up from your goddamn notebook and paid some attention to the people in your life and forced you to— 

(You understand now, with the icy clarity of your flawless hindsight, that there was nothing that could have been done.)

Your name is Ootori Kyoya and you refuse to accept your own blamelessness. 

—

When the head of the oncology research department (your oncology research department, goddammit, it was your people who failed her) had told you, eyes down, voice somber, that she was very sick

that it had metastasized to vital organs

that chemo was no longer an option

that radiation had proved ineffective

that you should say your goodbyes before

you fired him without a second thought.

—

(you gave him the job back two days later, along with a month’s worth of wages as compensation and a pair of beautiful golden handcuffs as insurance, because you were always the logical one and he was the leading lung cancer researcher in the developed world and you could not afford to let a simple slip of composure ruin your reputation because your father had Raised You Better Than That)

— 

You were not there when she passed. 

Tamaki was. Of course he was. He had refused to leave her side from her admission into the Ootori hospital system. When she breathed her last, Tamaki was the one holding her hand.

The twins were. They’d brought flowers and stuffed animals and fancy sushi at first, when they thought it was just in her lungs. They'd demanded that a cot be set outside her room for them when they found out that it was not.

Honey and Mori were. The grimness of the rest of the club did nothing to dull Honey’s enthusiastic refusal to acknowledge that she was dying. When Mori was forced to (face pained, posture stiff, hands shaking, flinchingly) relate her passing, he was met with smiles and an unshakable conviction that Haru-chan was going to wake up from her nap really soon. 

You were in your personal study working on club finances. 

You missed the call from the nurse and the six voicemails from Tamaki. 

You heard later that she had faced her death with dignity, surrounded by friends and family.

You had expected that you would find this comforting.

— 

(And when the clock struck three in the godforsaken morning on the day of her funeral 

and you found yourself picking the lock on your father’s expensive liquor cabinet again

and you realized that it was automatic to unscrew the cap and pour yourself another glass to 

“calm your nerves”

before burying yourself again in the glorious mindlessness of tax returns

you realized suddenly that you were hyperventilating again)

—

Surrounded by friends and family.

(you knew when you were not needed)

—

Your name is Ootori Kyoya and you were not present when Haruhi died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> As you can see, this is the start of a (hopefully) longer work that will focus primarily on the relationships that form between Kyoya and the rest of the members of the host club in the wake of Haruhi's passing. A lot of the central drama will focus on his romantic relationship with Kaoru and his budding friendship with Ranka, which we should be seeing more of as the story progresses.
> 
> Which is vague. And will hopefully be elaborated on when it is no longer 2:50 AM.
> 
> Apologies for that.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (hit me up on tumblr at idiosyncraticmagic!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kyoya attends a funeral and gets in over his head.

You wake up in an unfamiliar room with a pounding headache.

It’s a nice room, you decide (when your headache recedes enough for you to open your eyes again). Small, but not uncomfortably so. Maybe a hundred square feet. The walls are covered in pale, floral wallpaper. The carpet is tan. There is water damage on the ceiling, you notice, by the door. Looking at the window makes your head hurt.

Someone was kind enough to tuck you into bed, but unwilling to take off your now-rumpled suit. It’s a shame, really. You can’t iron these sorts of fabrics, and you’re reluctant to take this to your family's dry cleaner without a very good excuse. You guess you’ll have to dispose of it somehow.

You wonder, idly, when your throbbing skull will allow you, where the fuck you are. 

—

Our Father, who art in heaven,  
(Your father on high, with his steady suits and tailored gaze, with his unrivaled revilement when he found you passed out on the floor)

hallowed be thy name.  
(The hollow cheeks of your mother, starved perfect for the magazines, how they twist and wrinkle when she scowls)

— 

(You had insisted on paying for the whole affair, of course.)

You take a long sip of coffee.

(If it wasn’t for your own fucking obliviousness, nobody would be paying for a funeral in the first place.)

—

Thy Kingdom come,   
(Pour yourself another libation of hard liquor)

thy will be done,   
(Swallow it down like your tears like your pride like the pills from your brother’s medicine cabinet)

on earth as it is in heaven  
(Swallow and gag and gag and swallow until one day you don’t gag anymore you’re too used to forcing it down)

Give us this day our daily bread.  
(Force it down keep it quiet don’t you dare fucking cry)

— 

The sound of the door opening is too much for your hangover-addled brain to handle and you groan.

“You’re an idiot, Kyoya. An absolute fucking idiot.”

You can’t look up to see who is speaking to you, but you hear them shuffling over to you. The soft sound of feet on carpet is enough to set your teeth on edge. 

The stranger sighs. 

“Lucky for you, I happen to be quite fond of idiots. Even idiots who decide to go and get themselves drunk at my daughter’s funeral.”

When you finally open your eyes again, you see Ranka hovering over you, unshaven. Her messy hair is held out of her face with a sun-bleached bandana. In one hand, she holds a bottle of Ibuprofen. In the other, she has a glass of orange juice. 

Your hangover-addled heart suddenly believes very strongly in miracles. 

—

And forgive us our trespasses,  
(you know if you start hyperventilating now you’ll never stop)

as we forgive those who trespass against us.   
(you’re too young ot live to oldto die you’re losing your grip)

And lead us not into temptation,   
(she’sdeadshe’s fukcindead you killedher youmurdreryou fuckinguse lsesscumbag)

but deliver us from evil.   
(she’sdeadshearoewfshe’sdeasshe’sdeafad)

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory.   
(she’sdeaSDEHA’SADEADSHE’SDEADANYORDYIGN)

for ever and ever.   
(youcantbreathe)

Amen.

—

The day of the funeral was clear.

It was the best weather you’d seen in months (you'd remarked to the fellow mourners). Really, it was a miracle that it was so nice out. Makes you almost want to believe in miracles, really.

You took another swig of your coffee. You couldn't tell if the burn comes from its temperature or the vodka you’d mixed in.

Your name is Kyoya and you’re at a loss for words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand chapter two is live!
> 
> Shoutout to @jinxedlucky on tumblr for being an amazing beta reader and for answering all of my questions about estimated room size and suit treatment. Bless you, you bluehaired bastard.
> 
> Look out for chapter three coming soon to a trash heap near you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kaoru has a cigarette.

You’ve never been good at mourning.

You spend the funeral in a state of incompletion. Your brother could not be persuaded to attend the ceremony. Your brother could not be persuaded to get out of bed for the past three days.

Your name is Hitachiin Kaoru and you are no one without your twin.

—

You’d realized, maybe, that something was off between you when she first entered your life. She was bright and pure and carried no incestuous guilt in her admirations. Your brother was the moth and she was the flame and you were left wondering when he would realize that she had tipped the scales irrevocably out of your favor.

She tangled herself deep into his affections before either of you could do anything about it.

You didn’t resent her for it. 

— 

(kyoya’s screaming at you again, something about secondhand smoke)

(smoke on your breath smoke in your brother’s car smoke in her lungs)

(you’re shaking and hyperventilating and your body don’t work like that not anymore not since she died and you’re back up to a pack a day)

(three months. you’d been clean for three months that time.)

(you swallow your tears and light up another cigarette)

—

You suppose you loved her in your own way. Loved her infectious goodwill and her bright eyes and her refusal to deal with your brother’s bullshit. 

Loved her like a sister.

You laugh at your own cruel irony.

—

(It had started innocently enough, years ago)

(You were young and inexperienced and hadn’t understood the concept of unforgivable sin)

(By the time you were old enough to understand, truly, the implications)

(You were both too far gone to stop)

—

You don’t resent the fire when it leaves its flushed mark on your pale skin

You resent your own fragility and the breakable nature of your heart and the fact that you could never give up smoking

(you muse on the addictive nature of your brother’s lips)

you are filled with resentment

but none of it is for her.

—

you should have quit while you were ahead.

but you were too far gone to stop.

—

In the wake of a funeral,

you slip into your (your brother’s) bed

see him lying there, not looking at you

you want

(him to fuck you senseless fuck the grief straight out of your head out of your mind fuck you until you scream into the sheets and forget her)

him to look at you

(you need him to see you need him to get out of your own godforsaken mourning need things to not have changed like this you need him to-)

he doesn’t.

In the wake of a funeral,

you mourn the loss of your lover

as he muffles his sobs with your pillowcase.

(you do not reach out to touch him)

—

Your name is Hitachiin Kaoru and you never quit smoking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the lateness of this update.
> 
> Expect chapter 4 to be up sooner than this one was.
> 
> Once again, praise be to @jinxedlucky for her admirable attempts to make my writing coherent.


End file.
